


In the Shadow of the Lion

by colonel_bastard



Series: S.H.I.E.L.D.D. [2]
Category: Captain America (2011), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Incredible Hulk (2008), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Hogwartvengers - Freeform, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-15
Updated: 2012-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-14 08:16:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colonel_bastard/pseuds/colonel_bastard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki Odinson has never felt like the Gryffindor that his father always wanted him to be.  His brother Thor, on the other hand, seems to have been born for it.  It's a long train ride to Hogwarts, and at the end of the tracks is the moment that Loki has been dreading all summer: the Sorting Ceremony.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Shadow of the Lion

**Author's Note:**

> My second Hogwartvengers fic! And I can't even _begin_ to say how honored I am that the first one was received so well. Special thanks, as always, to [Juno](http://junosunderland.tumblr.com/), my HP maven and project collaborator--- be sure to check out her Tumblr for the illustrations!
> 
> All pairings listed in the header are endgame.

The station platform is crowded with Hogwarts students and their families, but that doesn’t stop Thor from accelerating into a run, pushing his luggage cart as fast as he can. 

“Come on, brother!” He calls back over his shoulder. “I’ll race you!”

He goes careening off into the throng, people scattering before him and Mother hurrying along in his wake, alternating between apologizing for her son’s behavior and calling out for him to stop. Father lets them go. Father never hurries. He takes the same slow, deliberate steps as always--- it’s only by chance that they happen to match the pace of his secondborn. 

Loki doesn’t know how Thor can manage it. His own trolley feels so heavy that he can barely keep up with Odin as it is, let alone participate in a contest of speed. Some might point out that Thor has always been the stronger of the two--- but Loki would prefer to think it’s because his brother’s trunk isn’t carrying nearly as many books as his own. There’s an unfair balance between them and, as usual, the scale is tipped in Thor’s favor. That’s all right. Let Thor win his stupid footrace. Loki wouldn’t trade his books for anything. 

Up ahead, he sees his brother come sliding gleefully to a halt in front of a vacant train compartment, his poor owl’s cage rattling at the abrupt stop. Mother is right on his heels, but though she shakes her head in stern disapproval, she does not scold. Instead she looks back towards her husband, anticipating his arrival. If there is to be discipline, it will be dealt by the head of the family. 

Odin glances back at his younger son, still struggling with his trolley. Loki wishes he could read the unreadable expression he sees there. Father has such a stern, intimidating face. He lost an eye many years ago, and though he could have had a charmed replacement made, he instead chose to cover it with a handsome bronze patch, unashamed of his wound. It makes him look especially formidable, and it also makes it that much more difficult to guess what he’s thinking--- though for a moment, Loki thinks he might actually be about to offer his help. Then---

“Come now, Loki,” Father says briskly. “Or you’re going to miss the train.”

He turns and strides swiftly onward. Sweat beading on his brow, Loki throws his full weight against the heavy luggage cart, cursing every page of every worthless tome. 

When he finally catches up with his family at the platform’s edge, Thor yawns and stretches in an exaggerated manner.

“Forgive me,” he scrubs at his eyes. “I must have fallen asleep waiting for you.” 

Furious, Loki nevertheless bites his tongue against the urge to retaliate with cruel words. He doesn’t want to risk drawing any attention away from Thor’s latest transgression. _Not this time._ Surely _this_ will merit a reprimand. The reckless dolt just hurtled a luggage trolley through a crowded platform at ramming speed, and there he is grinning like he has no idea how foolish and dangerous it was. Someone could have been hurt. Loki wishes someone _had_ been hurt, and badly, just to be sure there could be no denying the offense. Still, between the disorder he caused and the damage he might have, that _must_ be enough to deserve consequences. Loki holds his breath and waits for Odin to scold Thor for being so careless. 

“Thor,” says Father. “My firstborn. I am already so proud of you.” 

Loki releases a disappointed sigh. _Not this time._

“You are a true lion,” Odin continues, laying a hand on Thor’s shoulder. “A testament to your family’s legacy. The House of Gryffindor will be lucky to have you.”

Thor puffs up his chest with pride. “I won’t let you down, Father!” 

“I know you won’t,” Father assures him with great fondness. “Now go and get your things aboard.” 

As his eldest son busies himself with his trunk, Odin turns his attention towards the other. 

“Loki,” he says, smiling kindly. “Secondborn, but no less loved.”

He reaches out to touch his son’s arm, but before he can continue his speech, Loki panics and interrupts, the words tumbling out in a rush. 

“What if I don’t get into Gryffindor?”

Father’s kind smile begins to fade uncertainly. 

“What makes you think that you won’t?”

Loki looks down and away, too nervous to answer directly. This confession has been troubling him for a great while. 

“Sometimes... sometimes I just don’t _feel_ like one.”

And that’s the truth. He knows all about the House’s reputation, but more importantly, he knows _Thor._ If Thor is the perfect Gryffindor, then Loki simply doesn’t see how _he_ could ever qualify. Although they were born within the same year, the brothers could not be more different. Where Thor is big for his age, Loki is small. Where Thor is fair-haired, Loki is dark. And where Thor is adventurous and impulsive and everything that a Gryffindor should be, Loki just... isn’t. 

“If I’m not a Gryffindor,” he mumbles, trying to keep the tears from his eyes. “Will you still love me, Father?” 

Dreading the reply, he’s even more horrified when it doesn’t come. He looks up and sees that Odin’s expression has once again become distant, inscrutable. Loki is almost sick with fear, but after an unbearable pause, Father sinks down to one knee and places both hands on his shoulders. 

“You are my son,” he says quietly. “Nothing can change that.” 

Loki swallows hard. _That doesn’t answer the question._ He hopes that Odin might offer a few more words of encouragement, but instead he gives a decisive nod and rises back to his full height. 

“Off you go,” he says. “Get your things aboard and then come say goodbye to your mother.” 

He turns and busies himself in conversation with his wife, signifying that the discussion is over. Uncomforted, Loki trudges over to the door of the train car, setting aside his owl’s cage so he can deal with the trunk first. At the first tug of the handle he’s abruptly reminded of his many books, and he grits his teeth in frustration, his eyes already stinging with tears. Somehow he manages to get one end propped up against the lip of the entrance to the compartment. Going around to the other side, he resolutely braces himself against the back of it, and he’s about to make the first of many futile attempts at heaving it on board when a smiling face suddenly appears in the open doorway. 

“Here,” Thor beams. “Let me help.” 

Stooping down, he seizes the nearest handle and hauls the trunk up from the platform on his first try. Loki stumbles forward when the weight of the burden is unexpectedly lifted from him, and he catches himself against the side of the car with an amused grunt. 

“I always knew you’d come in handy someday,” he smirks. 

Thor just laughs and holds out his hand for the owl cage. 

Once all their belongings are secured in the compartment, they return to the platform one last time to let their mother kiss their heads and remind them to write. Father has already said what he had to say, and he nods at them both in silent, stoic farewell. Back on board, Thor opens the window and leans out, waving and shouting goodbye over the scream of the whistle and then the steady chugging of the train pulling out of the station. He keeps his eyes on their parents until they’re out of sight. 

Loki never looks back. 

When Thor finally tears himself away from the window and flops back onto his seat, he’s grinning from ear to ear. Loki tries to mimic the expression and manages a passable imitation. They’re facing each other, each one with a birdcage on the seat beside him. 

“I’m so pleased that Father gave us owls,” Thor says, overjoyed.

“Only so he can keep a close watch on us,” Loki cautions, knowing that Father never does anything without a purpose.

“That may be so,” Thor shrugs good-naturedly. “But they are such splendid creatures! I’ve always wanted one of my own!” 

Loki rolls his eyes. Of course Thor would never question such a gift. He’s perfectly content to lace his fingers through the bars of the cage and click his tongue in a friendly manner, trying to elicit a hoot in response. With a resigned sigh, Loki takes a closer look at his own bird. Father gave them a matched pair of snowy owls, their coloring so speckled that they’re almost more black than white. They already have names, much to Loki’s displeasure. 

“Hello, Huginn,” he tries, wincing at the unfamiliar sound. 

“Hello, Muninn!” Thor echoes cheerfully, struggling to touch feathers through the bars. 

Both owls give a loud hoot in answer, and though Thor is delighted, Loki is suspicious. He’s not sure he can trust an animal that he didn’t name himself--- but Thor would surely make fun of him for such irrational misgivings, so he makes no comment on the matter. 

“All right,” says Thor at last. “What are you looking forward to the _most?_ ” Without waiting for an answer, he enthusiastically volunteers his own. “I can’t decide between the feast and the Sorting!”

Frowning, Loki directs his attention out the window. 

“I just want to get it over with,” he mutters. 

“I can’t _wait_ to see our dormitory,” Thor gushes on, oblivious. “Father says that Gryffindor Tower is the greatest of them all! We shall have to make sure we get the side with the best view. Nothing but the best for the sons of Odin! And of course we _must_ have our owls perch side by side. I want them to always be friends!” 

Loki watches the green countryside go rushing by beyond the glass. He wishes he could be just as excited as his brother, but when he tries to envision them together in Gryffindor Tower, his mind draws an unhappy blank. The more Thor talks about it, the stranger it sounds--- and Loki starts to wonder when his brother began to feel so far away. He distracts himself by focusing on the swaying of the train and the steady, soothing rumble of the engine. 

“I have an idea!” Thor interjects into his reverie. “Let’s go up to the front and see the conductor!”

“Why would we do that?” Loki wonders, still frowning at the passing scenery. 

“I don’t know,” Thor shrugs again. “I thought it would be fun!”

When Loki fails to look away from the window, Thor leans across the compartment and jabs him in the belly with his index finger, making his little brother jump and yelp in surprise. 

“Come on, sourpuss!” the older boy laughs. “Get out of that sulk and let’s go exploring!” 

Arms wrapped protectively around his stomach, Loki nonetheless feels himself smiling against his will, his lifelong affection for his brother overriding the gloom that has only recently begun to overtake him. Thor looks so eager and giddy that Loki can hardly bear to spoil his mood--- but the thought of running up and down the corridors trying desperately to act like a Gryffindor sounds taxing beyond belief. 

“Sorry, brother,” he says sadly. “I don’t think I’m much for exploring right now.” 

“Oh, well,” Thor tries to hide his disappointment. “That’s all right.” 

He slouches unhappily back in his seat, picking at his thumbnail. Loki nudges him in the shin with the toe of his shoe. 

“Go on, then,” he urges. “Go and come back and tell me all about it. I’ll stay here and hold the line.” 

“Excellent plan!” Thor cries in delight, and in the next moment he’s bounded out of the compartment and Loki is left alone. 

He’s gone for a long while. Loki takes the opportunity to move their owls up into the luggage rack--- he doesn’t like the way they keep watching him. Then he goes back to staring out the window, willing the train to go faster. He just wants to get there. He just wants it to be over. As his thoughts grow increasingly troubled, he finds himself turning his wand over and over in his hands. He remembers how Thor was matched with the second wand he tried at the shop, while _he_ had to go through over a dozen before he found one that agreed with him. It’s family tradition to give one’s wand a name, but although Thor knew his in an instant --- _I shall call it Mjolnir!_ \--- Loki prefers to wait. He doesn’t _know_ the wand well enough yet. He barely knows _himself._

He’s just starting to wonder what sort of nonsense is keeping his brother when he hears a faint call of, “Anything from the trolley, dears?” A moment later Thor explodes back into the compartment, bursting with energy. 

“The lunch trolley’s coming!” 

“I should have guessed you’d come back for food,” Loki teases. 

“The only thing I truly care for!” Thor declares lustily, then adds with sweet sincerity, “Other than you, of course.” 

Loki smiles and ducks his head, too pleased to say anything clever. 

They take their pick from the trolley and settle back into their compartment to enjoy it--- but just as Loki is about to bite into a pumpkin pasty, he looks up and notices a small, mousy-haired boy standing at their door. Although he’s already been seen, the boy nonetheless announces his presence by rapping politely on the little window with his knuckle before opening the door a crack. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “But I seem to have been kicked out of my compartment. Do you mind if I join you?” 

“Not at all!” says Thor, and while Loki didn’t exactly expect to be _consulted_ , he’s still a bit annoyed that Thor didn’t even hesitate before inviting a stranger into their space. 

“Thanks,” says the stranger, stepping inside. He’s carrying his own trolley purchases in the crook of one arm, and after a quick glance between Thor’s welcoming grin and Loki’s wary squint, he takes the seat next to the older of the two. 

“I’m Phil,” he says, offering his hand. “Phil Coulson.” 

“A pleasure!” Thor beams, accepting the handshake. “I’m Thor Odinson, and this is my brother, Loki.”

Again Loki feels a prickle of annoyance--- he’s perfectly capable of introducing himself. 

“Why were you kicked out your compartment?” he demands, his tone as accusatory as possible. 

“Well, I wasn’t kicked out exactly,” Phil works at opening a Chocolate Frog. “But I got the feeling that they wanted to be alone.”

“Who?” 

“The guy I met,” Phil smiles. “And the girl _he_ met.”

Thor wrinkles his nose, horrified, and it’s enough to make both Phil and Loki laugh and the ice is broken. The three boys dig into their treats, and for a little while, Loki forgets all about the Sorting waiting for him at the end of the line. 

“Phil, I must ask,” Thor eventually says over a mouthful of Cauldron Cake. “What is your father’s name?”

“It’s Richard.” Phil is cautiously scrutinizing a handful of Every Flavor Beans. “Why?”

“Coul... Richardson?” 

Phil looks up from his beans. “What?” 

“What?”

Loki bursts out laughing. 

“I don’t understand,” Thor says uncertainly. 

“It’s Richard Coulson,” Loki chuckles, flicking him with a Licorice Wand. “Coulson is his surname, you oaf.” 

Comprehension dawns visibly on Thor’s face, causing Phil to look even more puzzled.

“Okay, now _I’m_ the one who doesn’t understand.” 

“Our family has a legacy name,” Loki explains. “We two are Odinsons, for our father is Odin. Meanwhile he is a Borrson, for his father was Borr.” 

“Ahhh, I see,” Phil says, and pointing between each of them he continues, “And your children would be Lokisons, and _yours_ would be Thorsons.” 

But the mood in the compartment suddenly becomes very strained, and Phil shrinks back in the manner of someone realizing that they’ve said exactly the wrong thing. 

“Actually,” Thor says. “Father hasn’t decided yet.”

Loki turns his gaze sharply out the window to hide his eyes. 

“Only one name can carry on the bloodline,” he says, his voice clipped. “Father will make his decision when we come of age.” 

And to think that when they were smaller, it was almost like a game. How could there be any jealousy or anger over something that was years and years away? They hardly knew what they were competing for, a profound honor beyond the limited grasp of a child’s understanding. It’s only this past summer that Odin has begun to stress the importance of their legacy, the history of the family, the future of its name. _One day, one of you will carry on that legacy,_ and Loki can still remember the first time he looked at his brother and felt a shadow growing over him. 

Odin insists that they are equals in his sight. He _insists_ that he loves them both just the same--- which only makes the ever-plainer truth all the more difficult to bear. Loki doesn’t _want_ to resent his brother. He loves Thor more dearly than he’s ever loved anyone--- but he would give _anything_ to have Father look at him the way he looks at his firstborn, like he’s something precious and valuable and dear. When Father looks at _him,_ Loki sees only kindness and concern--- but never love. In fact, the more Odin _insists_ that he loves him, the more Loki begins to doubt that it was ever true at all. 

“Father is very wise,” Thor assures Coulson. “He will make the best choice for our family’s legacy.” 

Loki looks over at him. Thor looks back, smiling trustingly. He really believes it. Loki looks out the window again.

“I have no doubt that Father will make the choice that he thinks is right.” 

And that is the bitterest truth of all. 

“So,” Thor says, licking Cauldron Cake crumbs from his fingertips. “Which House will you be in, Phil?” 

The mousy-haired boy looks grateful for the change of subject, though at a bit of a loss at how to answer the question.

“I’m not sure,” he says at last. “I don’t know if I’m really a clear-cut match with any of them.” 

“But what House was your father in?” Thor presses, as though that should be the obvious answer.

“Gryffindor,” Phil replies. “And my mom was a Hufflepuff. She says I have a bit of both, but we’ll see.” He glances back and forth at the other two. “What about you?” 

Thor grins proudly. “Loki and I are going to be in Gryffindor.” 

It’s the third time since Phil arrived that Thor has spoken for him, and it sets Loki’s teeth on edge. He rounds on him with a fierce glare. 

“I wouldn’t be too sure about that.” 

When Thor’s expression merely turns quizzical, Loki feels a hot flare of anger in his belly. It’s like his brother can’t even conceive of a world where the future doesn’t pan out exactly as he imagined it would. In Thor’s world, everything knows its place and all is at it should be. He has no conception of what it feels like to live in a world where he _doesn’t_ belong, where he feels like a trespasser, where everything seems to know its place except for _him_ \--- and the worst part of it is, he takes it all for granted. 

And Loki’s anger surges up his throat and out of his mouth before he can stop it. 

“I don’t even want to _be_ in Gryffindor.” 

Thor reacts like someone just slapped him, his mouth falling open and his eyes bulging wide. It’s clear from the genuine shock on his face that the barb has struck deep. Loki feels a twinge of guilt--- but not enough to make him take it back. 

There’s a tense, terrible silence. Then Phil abruptly gets to his feet and says “I think I’m gonna go see if Clint will let me back in his compartment now” and then he’s fumbling the door open and then he’s gone. Thor continues to stare at his brother in helpless dismay. 

“Loki,” he breathes. “How can you say that?”

“Well I’m not exactly the Gryffindor _type,_ am I?” Loki snaps. “Reckless adventuring? Dangerous stupidity? Sounds a lot more like _you,_ don’t you think?”

“But... but you are a son of Odin,” Thor argues faintly. “Gryffindor is in your blood.” 

“I find that hard to believe,” Loki sneers, and the implications in _that_ are too terrible to comprehend so he rants furiously on. “I’m surprised to hear you talk like this, _brother._ You’re the one who’s always telling me to run faster, try harder, _be braver._ _You’re_ the one who always throws my books in the mud. _You’re_ the lion, not me. How could you _possibly_ think that I could _ever_ belong in--- in---” 

But Loki is horrified to discover that his eyes have filled with tears, and he’s so, so afraid of not belonging _anywhere_ that his throat closes over the last word so he can’t make a sound without sobbing. He twists into the corner and hides his face in his arms, mortified, wishing he could turn invisible. It’s no good. The tears that have been threatening to spill out all day finally make good on their promise, and Loki desperately covers his mouth with his hand to stifle his cries. 

Thor doesn’t tease him. He doesn’t call him a baby or tell him to grow up. Instead he climbs onto the seat beside him, turns him forcibly away from the wall, and drags him into a fierce embrace. 

“You are my brother, Loki,” he murmurs in his ear. “You belong with _me._ ” 

And Loki buries his face in the front of Thor’s robes and sobs, too tired and too frustrated and too grateful to do anything else. Thor rubs his back and kisses his hair like he used to do when they were still small enough to share a bed, when Loki would wake up screaming and be too frightened to close his eyes again. They would lay together in the dark, Thor’s small, thick fingers tangled in Loki’s dark hair as he murmured drowsy reassurances until they both fell back asleep. They’ve been together since before either of them can remember. Loki can’t imagine a world without him in it. 

Eventually he tires himself out and becomes still. Then Thor pushes him gently upright and shakes a sleeve down over one hand to wipe his face. He’s not very gentle, but he has the best intentions. 

“There,” he says when he’s finished. “And I think you will make a _fine_ Gryffindor.” 

Loki’s heart sinks. 

“But Thor,” he says weakly. “What if I _don’t?_ ”

“What other House could you _be_ in?” 

“I don’t know,” Loki mumbles defensively. “Ravenclaw, maybe.” His tone sharpens. “But what about it? What would you do if I got Sorted into a different House? Tell me. I want to know.” 

Thor considers him for a long moment. Loki can tell from his skeptical face that he doesn’t think such a thing could ever happen, but he can also tell that Thor is trying to genuinely give it some thought, for his sake. 

“I suppose,” Thor says slowly, “Ravenclaw wouldn’t be _so_ bad.”

Loki sags with relief as Thor slings an arm around his shoulders. 

“No matter the House, you will always be my brother, Loki,” he promises, then laughs. “As long as you’re not a Slytherin. Father says they’re nothing but liars and sneaks.” He squeezes Loki’s arm affectionately. “And something tells me you’re not a Hufflepuff, either.” 

“Maybe _you’re_ a Hufflepuff,” Loki pokes him in the stomach. “I’ve heard their common room is near the kitchens. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” 

“It’s almost enough to make me forget about Gryffindor,” Thor chuckles. “ _Almost._ ”

He takes Loki’s hand in his own, their fingers entwining. Loki tips his head to rest against Thor’s shoulder. They stay like that until they reach their destination. 

“Firs’ years!” A deep voice booms as they depart the train. “Firs’ years over here!”

A giant of a man is beckoning the youngest students toward him, and once they’re all gathered he leads them off the platform and down through the trees on a narrow, winding path. It’s quite dark, and Loki realizes that Thor still hasn’t let go of his hand. He squeezes tighter and Thor squeezes back, absolutely giddy with anticipation as they round a bend and see Hogwarts for the very first time, glimmering in the distance on the far side of a great black lake. 

“Wow,” says Phil Coulson, suddenly beside them. “Now there’s something you don’t see every day.” 

“No more than four to a boat!” the giant calls. 

“Phil!” Thor cries, grabbing his arm. “You’re with us!” 

And they glide silently across water as still as glass, the castle growing larger and larger as Loki’s anxiety comes creeping back tenfold until he’s almost dizzy with nerves. It only gets worse when they enter the school itself, where a little man called Professor Flitwick welcomes them and leads them towards the Great Hall. He gives some sort of speech about the impending Sorting and what it means for them, but Loki doesn’t hear a word he says. His knees are shaking. Thor smiles at him and he feels like he might be sick. 

He’s so nervous that he can barely appreciate the glory and grandeur of the Great Hall itself, staring blankly at his shuffling feet until Thor tugs his arm and points upwards. Loki follows his gesture and is amazed to see a vast night sky overhead, the ceiling bewitched to show what lies beyond the confines of its roof. Even in such an agitated state, Loki can appreciate its beauty. One would never suspect that a terrible battle had been fought here only a few short months ago. Many had assumed that the school would remain closed for at least a year, but it was the wish of both Minister for Magic Shacklebolt and Headmistress McGonagall that Hogwarts should reopen on September 1st without fail. Thanks to the tireless efforts of the wizards and witches who dedicated their summer to the task, that goal has been achieved, the castle restored to its former glory just in time to welcome the next generation of students through its doors. 

When they reach the front of the Great Hall, they turn to face the assembly while Professor Flitwick fetches a four-legged stool almost as tall as himself. On it he places a patched and battered hat--- and after an expectant moment, the Sorting Hat begins to sing. 

_Rejoice, my friends, the battle’s done_  
 _And we have won the War!_  
 _To think that only months ago_  
 _I feared I’d Sort no more._

_Now here you stand and there you sit_  
 _And Hogwarts has returned!_  
 _But we must not ever forget_  
 _The lessons we have learned._

_We’ve seen how weak we all become_  
 _When Houses are divided._  
 _We’ve also seen how strong we are_  
 _When Houses are united._

_For though each House is proudest_  
 _Of the qualities they’ve got,_  
 _They must rely on others_  
 _To be good at what they’re not._

_The stool I rest on could not stand_  
 _If balance was not found._  
 _It has four legs; remove just one,_  
 _I’d topple to the ground!_

_So remember when I Sort you_  
 _on the differences I find_  
 _That those differences are strongest_  
 _Not divided, but combined._

_And now we’ll see just who goes where!_  
 _The Sorting will be said._  
 _You’ll find out what you’re made of_  
 _When you put me on your head!_

_You might belong in Gryffindor_  
 _Where courage is most treasured._  
 _By noble heart and daring deed_  
 _A Gryffindor is measured._

_You might belong in Ravenclaw_  
 _Where knowledge is respected._  
 _By able mind and clever wit_  
 _Are Ravenclaws selected._

_You might belong in Slytherin_  
 _Where ambition is acclaimed._  
 _By cunning skill and fierce resolve_  
 _A Slytherin is named._

_Or you might belong in Hufflepuff_  
 _Where loyalty is prided._  
 _By level head and faithful soul_  
 _Are Hufflepuffs decided._

_So have a seat and try me on!_  
 _I’ll put you to the test!_  
 _And when I’m through I’ll place you in_  
 _The House that suits you best._

Professor Flitwick is obliged to use a stepladder. He holds the Hat in one hand and a roll of parchment in the other.

“When I call your name, you will put on the Hat and sit on the stool to be Sorted,” he says. “Banner, Bruce!” 

And so it goes. Loki’s heart is racing. He thinks of his father, the lion. He thinks of his trunk filled with too many books. He tries not to hold his breath. Thor said it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter if he’s not a Gryffindor--- it doesn’t matter--- Thor said--- _no matter the House_ \--- _no matter the House_ \--- 

He almost jumps out of his skin when Professor Flitwick calls too soon, “Odinson, Loki!” 

Thor gives an audible gasp of indignation. 

“But--- but _I’m_ the oldest!” he protests. “I should go first!” 

There are murmurs of disapproval from the Head Table and an answering wave of whispers from the rest of the hall. Thor doesn’t seem to care. He never does. He simply sees something that he wants and demands it, and if they think he can be shamed by mere _disapproval_ , they have a lot to learn. 

Flitwick checks the register and sees that there are, in fact, two Odinsons. He gives Loki an inquisitive look, eyebrows raised in anticipation of an objection. 

“It’s all right,” Loki mumbles, embarrassed. “I don’t mind.” 

“Very well,” says Professor Flitwick. “Odinson, Thor!” 

Thor bounds over to the stool and sits, hands clasped eagerly in his lap. The Hat barely touches his golden head before it cries loudly, clearly, _inevitably_ \--- “GRYFFINDOR!” 

The Gryffindor table cheers as Thor jumps to his feet. He passes Loki on his way to join them, and as he does, he gives his brother’s shoulder a confident squeeze. 

“I’ll save you a seat.” 

And Loki’s blood runs cold. 

So much for _no matter the House._

Numb with dismay, he turns and watches Thor strut proudly over to his new House table, just like he always knew he would. All he has to do now is wait for them to make Loki a Gryffindor too, and then everything will be exactly like he wanted. Thor has already decided how things are going to happen. Thor always gets his way. Thor takes it for granted that Loki will always be there when he wants him to be. 

“Odinson, Loki!” 

Loki sits down on the stool, his heart like ice. The Hat touches down on his head, and in a surge of helpless anger, he squeezes his eyes shut and thinks fiercely: _not Gryffindor._

“Not Gryffindor, eh?” chuckles a small voice in his ear. “No, I didn’t think so.” And then in a big, booming pitch for the whole hall to hear, it announces: 

“SLYTHERIN!” 

There’s an answering cheer from the House table, but Loki doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t hear anything beyond the echo of that fateful declaration, as he opens his eyes and sees the heartbreak on his brother’s face. _Too late._

Sitting at the Slytherin table, he can’t bear to look anywhere but his empty plate. The numbness still hasn’t faded. He refuses to look up, even though he can _feel_ Thor staring at him from across the way. His brother is completely shocked, like the _impossible_ has happened--- but a small, ugly voice in Loki’s heart whispers, _you knew, you always knew._ And it’s not like he didn’t try to warn him. He _told_ Thor that they were different--- but Thor stubbornly refused to see the truth, and for the first time, Loki begins to hate him for it. 

The rest of the Sorting goes by in a blur, the only thing of note being a genuine Hatstall over “Romanoff, Natasha,” who spends almost seven whole minutes on the stool before the Hat finally declares, “HUFFLEPUFF!” Once everything has been cleared away, Professor McGonagall rises from her seat at the Head Table to speak a few words. 

“To our new students, welcome,” she says warmly. “And to those who are returning, welcome back. I do hope you all listened to what the Sorting Hat had to say, for I had intended to say much the same thing myself. Now I will merely remind you what is most important: that this school remain united. No matter our differences, we are all a part of Hogwarts, and only _together_ can we make this school as great as it was meant to be. Never forget that.” She spreads her arms. “Now let the feast begin!” 

Though the food is wonderful, Loki eats very little. He has no appetite. He can’t stop thinking about what Thor said on the train. _Slytherins are nothing but liars and sneaks._ His hands clench into fists under the table. Like Gryffindors are any _better._ Stupid, obnoxious, _reckless_ \--- and _besides_ , what’s wrong with being _ambitious_ , anyway? Thor doesn’t even _have_ ambition. He doesn’t need it. He doesn’t know what it’s like to strive for glory, to yearn for the attention that he’s been effortlessly lavished with all his life. Loki looks around the Slytherin table and sees keen, hungry eyes. They look... familiar. 

As the first years are led out of the Great Hall towards their dormitories, they become congested at the double doors, the Houses briefly intermingling before separating again on the other side. Loki sees Phil Coulson, now a Ravenclaw, reach out and shake hands with a newly-Sorted Hufflepuff boy, presumably his friend from the train. Then, much to his disgust, he feels a warm hand close over his own. 

“Brother---” Thor begs.

“Don’t,” Loki hisses, yanking his hand free. 

“Gryffindors, upstairs!” calls their prefect. 

“Slytherins, downstairs!” 

The flow of the crowd is already starting to draw them apart. Thor fights to keep from being pulled away.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says desperately. “Loki, _it doesn’t matter._ ” 

Loki looks back at his stricken face. Things will never again be the same. Had he known that the train ride was the last time Thor would ever hold him, he might have cherished it a bit more dearly. 

“Goodbye, brother,” he mutters, and turning to face his fate, he allows himself to be swept down into the dungeons. 

He finds that he has the sleeping quarters to himself. Almost the entire House is crammed into the common room, watching another first year, Tony Stark, demonstrate his astonishingly advanced skills with Charms. Loki is grateful for the privacy, and especially the silence, broken only by the faint hum of water--- the Slytherin dormitory is so far underground that its windows look out into the Black Lake. Their belongings were brought to their rooms during the feast, and after changing into his pajamas, he lets his owl out of his cage, smiling sadly as the bird hops onto his perch and gratefully stretches his wings. 

“Hello, Huginn,” he murmurs, brushing a hand over the dark feathers. 

This time, the owl does not answer. 

Loki sits by the window and stares out into the dark water. _You knew. You always knew._ He turns his wand over and over in his hands. _They_ were the fools, Father and Thor, for ever thinking that he might be a Gryffindor. _This_ is where he belongs now. This is where he was always meant to be. 

He looks down at his wand. Eleven inches, with a core of dragon heartstring. The old wandmaker had described it as _uncommonly versatile._ Studying it in the pale light, Loki finally knows its name, for he finally knows himself. 

“Jormungand,” he whispers. 

_The Serpent’s Fang._

 

 

 

_________end.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [В тени льва](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1594370) by [Leshaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leshaya/pseuds/Leshaya), [Tinnory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinnory/pseuds/Tinnory)




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